


Small

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Worship, Breast Worship, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Doctor/Patient, F/M, Mechanics, Praise Kink, Protective Kylo Ren, Rey has issues, Surgeons, Virgin Rey (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: “Your body is…” He lowers his voice. Or maybe it’s just that he’s a little breathless. “You don’t need to. You are perfect.”“Oh. Right.” This is so… unexpected. Not how her afternoon was supposed to go, not at all. “Look, I appreciate this, but you don’t have to—I know you didn’t mean to be hurtful, and that you’re trying to be kind, but you don’t need to—”“I would love to show you.”In which Dr. Ben Solo, plastic surgeon, takes a look at Rey and refuses to operate on her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, CaP 💖I'm so happy you guys let me hang out with you! Have this fic from that 2 minute convo we had a million months ago 😻
> 
> PSA and mild spoilers: There is mention of cosmetic surgery in this fic, as well as (very briefly) of some verbal abuse Rey received from a previous boyfriend which made her very insecure about her body. Also: this fic is not meant at all as a commentary on cosmetic surgery, of which I am very much in favor, 12/10, would recommend 💕  
>   
> Part 2 is with my amazing beta (monsterleadmehome) and coming tomorrow!

Her first thought is that he doesn’t look like a plastic surgeon. Closely followed by a second, which is that it’s not as if Rey has any clue what plastic surgeons are even supposed to look like—nor has she given it much consideration in her life, ever. Maybe she had imagined that he’d be dainty; silver fox hair, perhaps, and small, precisely manicured hands; still aggressively tanned from his last Maldives vacation, which he’d surely spent scuba diving with his ace-lawyer wife and sipping expensive mojitos purchased with the savings of girls who could not be pretty enough. 

Girls like Rey.

The point is moot. It doesn’t matter what plastic surgeons look like as a population. Just this one right here, and he’s built more like a construction worker than a physician. He also has a lot of moles, and precisely the type of nose people would shell out a lot of money to get rid of. It has Rey wondering if what they say about doctors making the worst patients is true across all medical specialties.

“Rey Abrams?” Dr. Solo doesn’t look at her, and keeps on scribbling something on a white notepad. His tone is not exactly polite—and definitely not as reassuring and welcoming as everyone else’s has been at First Order so far. “Cosmetic surgery, right?”

“Yes. Nice to meet you.” Rey hovers near the door, where the nurse abandoned her after escorting her inside the office.

“You can take a seat.” He is still writing. Still mostly ignoring her. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She glances around the room. There are two chairs in front of his desk; and a comfortable-looking leather couch; and a sleek settee bench right by the window. Rey calculates that she has approximately one in seven chances of choosing the correct spot. “Um. Where should I sit?”

“I doesn’t matter.” He huffs, sounding a _tad_ annoyed. “You can just—”

He stops talking the second he looks up at her. Though he doesn’t close his mouth—in fact, it stays open, gaping and a little slack and more than a little weird. He _does_ blink, though, several times, his lips moving silently as he stares at her face with an oddly dumbfounded expression, like he expected to see a human and instead found a monstrous sea creature standing in his office.

Okay, then. So maybe Rey has other problems, aside from her microscopic boobs. Maybe her face is not exactly perfect, either. But she has a limited amount of money, and she can’t fix everything at once, anyway. 

Also, this plastic surgeon should really work on his poker face.

“Which seat?” she repeats, a little irritated. She’s here for his magic fingers after all, not to be judged.

“The, ah…” he swallows, and straightens in his chair, his pen bleeding ink onto the notepad. “That one will work.” He gestures at the chair closest to him, and tracks all her movements while she sits down, as if afraid that she’ll surprise-attack him with her apparently breath-taking ugliness.

Oookay.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor Solo."

No 'likewise'. No 'you, too.' No handshake. Just that stare.

Rey clears her throat. "So, I was told that you've already read my file. Is that right?”

A beat and then he nods, still looking at her somewhat too intently.

“So, you know? About the breast implants?”

His eyes instantly slide down to her boobs, and—yes. Rey _is_ well aware that to get this man to put silicone inside her tits she will have to be naked in front of him. It’s just that the way he’s staring at her right now is a bit… not quite unprofessional, no. But perhaps not professional, either. Which is unexpected, because by all accounts Ben Solo is the best at what he does. That’s why she saved for _months_ for this. 

Though maybe Rey is just imagining this. Maybe she’s being fanciful—it’s not like anyone ever looks at her boobs, after all.

“Since I started looking into cosmetic surgery I’ve been mostly thinking about silicone implants, but recently I’ve been reading more and more on fat transfer. It seems really promising, but also a little scary in terms of—” 

“Why?”

Rey tilts her head. “Oh—why? No particular reason, I just wanted to make sure that I was considering all my options.”

“No—” he shakes his head at her, impatient “—why do you want the surgery?”

_Did he—did her plastic surgeon just ask why she wants to have breast augmentation surgery?_ “I—well, it’s... it's augmentation, so I want to make my breasts… you know, bigger than they currently—”

“But why?”

“Why… why what?”

“What do you want your breasts to be bigger?” 

Rey frowns, and glares at him. And she should be seriously starting to wonder if she was mistakenly escorted into the wrong office and this guy is actually a proctologist or an OB-GYN, but instead the random, unbidden thought that crosses her mind is that maybe— 

That maybe she'd been a tad uncharitable. Initially. About his looks. That is, yes, Doctor Solo _does_ have a big nose and a weirdly angular face and slightly squinty eyes, but glued together all these things manage to be… okay. Or something like that.

Which, really, is irrelevant.

“Because they are… Because they are small,” she says slowly. Maybe he’s an amazing surgeon, but a little simple-minded. Like that Ben Carson guy. They even have the same name. “They are small, and I want them to be bigger.”

“But why?”

“Because I _do_.” A thought occurs to her. “Wait—is it that you don’t think I have the money, or something? Doctor Solo, I assure you that I have enough savings to—”

“You’re not telling me _why_ ,” he interrupts. “Why do you want your breasts to be larger than they currently are?”

She snorts. “Because. Because the way they are right now, they are—” _Barely there. A joke. Invisible. Mosquito bites. Double A batteries. A surfboard._ “—inadequate.”

His eyes lower to them again, this time for just a second. “Inadequate.”

“Yes.”

“Inadequate for what?”

“Inadequate for _me_.”

“For you to…?”

“For me to… For me to _live_ —for me to look decent, for me to be pretty.”

“You think that larger breasts would make you look _decent_? Or prettier?”

It stings. Oh, it stings. It stings her heart and it stings her eyes, to hear from yet another man that no matter what, she will never be beautiful or feminine or attractive enough—especially when she’s offering this one good money to _fix_ her. It more than stings—it fucking _burns_ , but Rey has no intention of showing it. So she presses her lips together, squares her shoulders, and does the only thing she can think of: she lifts her right hand and begins to undo her shirt. She starts with the first button, and then the second, and then she moves down until she reaches her navel. Then she pulls the two flaps apart, to reveal her braless chest.

All throughout, Doctor Solo simply stares at her with a half-alarmed, half-spellbound expression. 

“These are my breasts,” Rey says without looking down. She doesn’t need to—she is painfully aware of what he’s seeing: her tits are high, and firm, and… yeah. More than a little small. She swallows against the tightness in the throat. “Can you help me make them bigger?”

His response takes so long to come, Rey begins to wonder if he has been rendered speechless by her deformity. This _jackass_. But, no—he eventually tears his gaze away from her chest and to his notepad, picking up his pen and starting to write again.

“Miss Abrams, I am sorry. There is nothing I can do for you.”

When she walks out of his office, she makes sure to slam the door as hard as she is physically able to.

…

She next sees Doctor Solo over three months later, when he brings his expensive but surprisingly sensible, unsurgeonlike, environmentally conscious car into Rey’s shop.

It’s an exceedingly slow day in the middle of August, the heat index is one hundred and fifteen, and Rey knows of at least two car mechanics nearby who are currently on holiday. She sees him unfold himself out of the driver’s seat, and feels her lips curl into a small smile, because—

Oh, the tables. How they’ve turned.

“My AC has been acting up,” he says as he takes off his sunglasses. “I checked and it’s not the freon, so—”

Rey can pinpoint the exact moment he recognizes her. Mostly because it also happens to be the very moment his gaze settles on her. It surprises her for a second that he can place her so easily—she’s sure young girls with infinitesimal, unenlargeable breasts are a dime a dozen in his line of work—but there is no doubt that he remembers exactly who she is. His reaction to her is not unlike the one he had in his office: he stares at her face with parted lips for a long moment, and then his eyes slide down. To her still-very-small tits. 

He is _entirely_ too obvious. And rude. Someone needs to take this douchebag aside and teach him how to interact with other human beings. Someone who is not Rey.

“Doctor Solo,” she says, making a show of crossing her arms across her chest.

He averts his eyes and clears his throat. “You work here?” 

Rey looks down at the dark stains of motor oil on her white tank top and at the coveralls tied around her waist, with the sole aim of making him feel like an idiot. “Nah. I just like to hang around. We’re at the pool, right?”

His jaw clenches. It might be a tic of his—Rey vaguely remembers him doing it in his office, too. “Do you work here alone?”

“Today I do.” Her shrug is carefully calculated. “Business is slow. Because everyone’s out of town.” Tallie left at noon to pick up her mom from the airport. Finn and Rose and Poe are on a cruise, probably eating shrimp cocktails and having sex forty times a day in all possible combinations _and_ permutations. 

“Right.” He’s still doing that thing with his lips. With his entire jaw and mouth. “This is the only open auto-repair I could find. For miles.”

“Is that so?” Rey tilts her head and smiles sweetly.

“Yes.” He exhales, as if unable to hold in a deep sigh. “As I was saying, my AC is not working.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“Oh, yikes. Since when?”

“Just this morning. I checked the freon and it seemed fine.”

“Ah.”

“The filters look good, too.”

“Mmm. I bet it’s a compressor issue. Or a leak, even more likely.”

He nods. “Is that something that can be fixed easily?”

“Oh, yes. Certainly.” Rey begins stroking her chin, pretending to ponder the issue. “But why?”

“…why?”

“Why do you want the leak fixed?”

He blinks at her, slowly. “Because the car is not cooling properly.”

“I see, but _why_ do you want it to be cool?”

“Because it’s—” She sees his eyes harden and his nostrils flare for a moment. His voice is flat and cutting when he asks: “Will you fix it or not?”

No need to be smiling anymore. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do for you, Doctor Solo.”

He just stares at her. And stares. And then he snorts. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope. Tragically, I seem to have momentarily forgotten how to do my job.”

“It’s one hundred and five degrees.”

“Is it? My phone says one hundred and seven.” She shrugs. “You’re a physician, right? Do you think the heat might be playing a role in this temporary amnesia of mine?”

He takes two steps towards her, and—he is big. Oh, he is big. He looked big behind a desk, he looked big getting out of his Prius, and he looked big ten feet away from her, but now that he’s even closer than that… 

“This is not funny,” he says, cold as ice. Tall as a mountain.

“Oh, believe me, I know. Isn’t it just _horrible_ to be denied service?”

His eyes widen. Oh, _good_. He’s finally catching up.

“It's not the same thing. Not at all.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Mmm. I’m sure you’ll enlighten me as to why.”

“ _You_ are refusing to fix my car’s AC in the worst heat wave of the past fifty years. _I_ refused to give you a boob job you did _not_ need.”

Rey gasps. “Excuse me? I’ll be the one to decide if I need a damn boob job!”

“Absolutely.” He is basically yelling. Which is no surprise, since she is yelling at him herself. “It’s your body. By all means, do what you will—”

“That was not what you said when I—”

“—but I refuse to operate on someone who looks like you, and it’s within my rights.”

“Someone who—” Rey sputters. “ Do you even _hear_ yourself? Someone who looks like _me_?”

“Yes. Now will you—”

“What would that even be, uh?”

“—fix my AC or do I have to go elsewhere?”

“What do I look like, eh? Because I’m pretty sure that—”

“ _Perfect_. You look _perfect._ ” 

It’s—not quite a snarl, but almost. Which is what has Rey realizing that they’ve moved even closer to each other, and that he’s leaning towards her just as much as she’s leaning towards him. He seems to become aware of it at the same time, because they both immediately step back, the sound of their footsteps loud in the empty garage.

“Right.” She sounds bitter, and she doesn’t even care. “Sure. Of course. I am supposed to believe that you took a look at me and decided that I was too pretty for you to mess with Mother Nature.”

“You can believe what you like.” He is avoiding her eyes now. Looking at the wall of the garage, at the calendar of women soccer players holding kittens that Rose put up two years ago and then never took down, because the pictures are simply too cute. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find another mechanic.” He doesn’t even sound angry anymore. Just stiff, and tired. “Have a good weekend, Rey.”

She fully means to let him go. To let him drive thirty miles and sweat until his arrogant ass is glued to the seat of his car; maybe get heatstroke, too. But there is something in the way he says her name, or maybe just the fact that he _remembered_ it, that makes her call after him.

“Why did you do it?”

He doesn’t look at her. His hand closes around his car handle. “Why did I do what?”

“Refuse to operate on me?” 

His jaw is doing it again, that tense clenching. And keeps doing it for several moments, until he straightens and turns around to face her again.

“Because you are twenty,” he says, and his tone actually sounds reasonable. Like a normal, level-headed, well-grounded human being. “Well—you are twenty-one by now. Your birthday is mid April, right?”

“How do you even—”

“It was on your intake form. But at the time you were twenty and so beautiful and I just—” He stops and shakes his head. “I don’t know why you dislike your body so much that you’d want to change it, but I couldn’t—”

“I don’t dislike my body,” she interrupts. Maybe a little defensive. Maybe a little blurted out. Doctor Solo raises one eyebrow. “I _don’t_ ,” she insists. “My body is—it’s good, it can run fast and for a long time and I can deadlift one-hundred and ninety pounds. But, and this might sound odd to you, I actually would like to maybe go on a date at some point, and with the way I look right now—”

“You’d have absolutely no problems doing that.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Listen—this is stupid. I’ll fix your AC.” 

She holds out her hand for his car keys, but he doesn’t move.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Of course she’ll fix his AC. She doesn’t swim in money, she’s not a freaking surgeon—

“You really think that you’re not attractive enough to _find a date_?”

“Ah. Well, I _can_ find a date, since padded bras exist.” She snorts. “I just can’t get naked in front of one without being told that I—” 

She stops herself and looks away. It’s not his business, anyway. And he has no right to walk closer and fix her with that prying, disbelieving stare.

“What have you been told?” His voice is low. A little inquisitive, a little menacing.

“Nothing.”

“What have you been—”

“ _Nothing_.”

“ _Who_ told you?” he presses, though it’s technically a different question.

“My ex. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I mean, it _does_ matter and it would have been nice if you had not decided that I am beyond hope, so that next time I end up naked in front of someone they won’t feel the need to tell me how lacking my body is, but I’ll still fix that AC for you, so—”

“Are you—Is that true? What you just said?” He is close to her now. Again. Eyes narrowed to slits. And he is looking at her so intently—Rey can’t quite figure him out.

“I…” She waves her hand. “Forget I said anything. If you—”

“Are you—” He stops, looking—looking incapable of continuing, looking beyond words. And after a sharp, deep breath he starts again. “Are you telling me that you let him fuck you and he said—”

“I _didn’t_ ,” she snaps. “I _tried_ , but that’s entirely the point—he took a look at me and he just _couldn’t_ —he _didn’t_ —because as long as I look the way I do men won’t be able to… to…” Rey runs a hand down her face and sighs. She really didn’t want this—finding herself telling her not-quite-boob-surgeon about that time her ex-boyfriend hadn’t been able to muster the faintest trace of arousal and he’d confessed that it was all her fault, because she wasn’t pretty or feminine enough; remembering the way Unkar had always made fun of her growing up, taunted her and told her that he couldn’t tell if she was a boy or a girl, right until the day Rey had become of age and moved out; thinking about the years spent comparing herself to others, to movies, to pictures, and wishing she was just a little more… yeah. “I really don’t feel like discussing this—”

“What a _fucking waste of space._ ”

Rey looks up, and—he _sounded_ angry, just from his voice. But he looks even more… 

He looks _dangerous_.

“W—what?”

“Your ex was a fucking waste of space.”

“Actually, he…” She wets her lips. “Well—he really was, but not because of that. That wasn’t his fault.”

“It wasn’t his _fault_?”

“I mean, he tried. It would be hard for anybody to… you know. With someone who looks like me. So it’s not as if—”

“Are you _serious_?”

Rey—she just shrugs. Doctor Solo seems—he seems so intense now, and this conversation is more intimate than she thought it’d ever become, and really, she should have just fixed his stupid AC as soon as he—

“I could fuck you _right_ _now_. This second. This very moment.” 

For a few moments she is certain she must have misheard. Changed a word in her head, and given it a meaning that he cannot possible have intended. But the more she buffers the sentence in her head, the more it sounds like _those_ were exactly the words he used; said in a prosaic, unemotional tone that made him sound all the more sincere. And so instead of feeling indignant, of kicking him out, of keying his car, Rey just asks:

“You… you could?” Her cheeks feel hot. No, _on fire_.

“I—you have no idea.” His lips press together. “I wanted to fuck you in my office, with no—” He stops himself and inhales sharply. “I’m sorry. This is inappropriate, but you are the most…” He shakes his head, as if too frustrated to continue. “You know what, that’s not even the point. The point is that I don’t know what your ex’s problem was, but I assure you, he had one. And if you want—if you really want, if you’re sure that you’re doing it for yourself, you can come back to my practice and I’ll do the operation. But don’t do it for that fuckwit.” He swallows. “Please.”

It’s the ’please’ that does her in. It just sounds so earnest, so… so pleading, that Rey can’t take her eyes away from his for a long moment. And then what he said about his office, about the first time they met, it finally registers, and... she simply cannot hold his gaze anymore. 

“You...” Rey scratches her nose. Studies the frayed hems of her coveralls. Clears her throat. “Um, you seem to have a lot of unnecessary scruples about performing surgery. For someone who makes money out of it, that is.”

She hears him sighs. “Yeah, well. I’m trying to figure things out, myself.”

Right. Yeah. “Mmm. So should I, sounds like.” The entire garage—it’s coated in awkwardness. It’s dripping from the tool racks, pooling like motor oil on the floor, almost _choking_ Rey; she wonders if offering to fix his car again would make it better, but she has already asked him twice, and he has probably gotten the message. It’s not even—he probably said what he said just to make her feel better. A nice, uncomplicated gesture, and Rey shouldn’t be reading anything into it and make this even more awkward. 

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Rey looks up. “Uh? Seeing?”

“Yeah. Seeing. Dating.”

_Oh._ “No. No, I don’t… I don’t date.” She bites her fingernail, and then remembers that she’s trying to stop. Quit the habit. “I took a break from it. Mostly I was waiting for my new body.”

“Your body is…” He lowers his voice. Or maybe it’s just that he’s a little breathless. “You don’t need to. You are perfect.”

“Oh. Right.” This is so… unexpected. Not how her afternoon was supposed to go, not at all. “Look, I appreciate this, but you don’t have to—I know you didn’t mean to be hurtful, and that now you’re trying to be kind, but you don’t need to—”

“I would love to show you.”

Rey stops breathing. And her brain stops working. And the earth stops spinning. And still, in this deafening quiet, she cannot quite understand what it is that he’s saying.

“… show me?”

“Yes.” He comes a little closer. And when he looks at her like that, Rey just doesn’t have it in her to mind. “Show you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS LATE HERE IS CHAPTER 2 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE AMAZING COMMENTS LOVE YOU VERY MUCH FRIENDS 😭😭😭💖

He has seen her already. And Rey, as much as she’d rather not look like she currently does, has never been particularly shy about her body. And yet. And yet, once her coveralls are down to her ankles and his fingers begin to lift her tank top, she can feel her spine turn to concrete.

“You okay?” he asks, stopping immediately.

He is more considerate than she thought he would be. Not that she has ever thought about him. Not like this. But his eyes are kind and a little worried. 

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” 

Maybe he doesn’t believe her. Or it could just be how small her voice sounds—Rey can’t remember the last time it was that shaky. Whatever the reason, he regards her pensively for a moment and then nods.

“Why don’t we take this slowly?”

She frowns. “We don’t need to take it slowly. You can go ahead.” He just stares at her, so she frowns harder. “Just _do_ it.”

He _does_ it. Though what Rey expected wasn’t quite this—not his hand rising to her face, not his thumb briefly tracing her cheekbone, and definitely not his fingers sliding down to cup her right breast through her shirt. 

“Oh,” she says. Nonsensically. Meaning absolutely nothing. 

_Oh_ , isn’t the temperature just horrid today, _oh_ , pineapple is a tasty fruit, _oh,_ Ben Solo is touching her. There. And studying the fit of it—of himself and Rey. Which, to be honest, seems to be not exactly perfect, all because of Rey’s nanoscopic boobs—

“It’s not you, by the way,” he says, because apparently he can read her mind. He doesn’t move his hand, but he does sit down in front of her, in one of the chairs in the small garage office, until her chest and his eyes are at a level. He wets his lips, as if pleased with the view. “It’s my hands. They’re paws. Freakishly large.”

She looks down. They’re both touching her now, closed around her ribcage and her tits, heavy, warm weights through the thin cotton. Not squeezing or anything. Just framing. Just _there_.

“Not really.” He lifts an eyebrow and Rey smiles, feeling her tension unknot a little. “Well. Maybe they’re a bit large. But I’m small, too. There, at least.”

“Mmm.” He leans forward, nuzzling her sternum with his nose. The office is hot, and so was the garage, but the warmth of his breath on her skin is still a shock. “Was he the first one?”

“Oh.” _Oh_ , again. “Who?”

“Your ex-boyfriend. That piece of shit. Was he the first to see you naked?”

He is just touching her. _Just_. It’s a little maddening. “My volleyball teammates, too. And my foster sister, at some point. But he was the first to… yeah.”

“So you’re a virgin?” He speaks so quietly. Presses a kiss into her skin, though maybe it’s not—maybe it’s just his lips moving against her.

“Yeah.”

“Mmm.” This sound, this one is a little more guttural. He closes his eyes and stiffens for a second, but it's very brief. One of his hands moves down to do something that looks a lot like—like he’s adjusting himself in his jeans, wincing a little for some reason, but then it comes back up to her waist. “That’s okay. How much have you... Do you know what you like?”

“What I like?”

“How you like to be touched.”

“Ah.” _What you’re doing is fine._ “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His fingers are starting to tighten. To test the shape of her, trace the texture, and Rey lets her neck drop backwards, her eyes flutter shut. “I can’t imagine a bigger turn on than helping you find out.”

_Helping_ her _._ “Is it like… a calling of yours? Helping women figure themselves out?”

He snorts. “Hardly.” His lips follow the skin at the edge of her neckline. Soft, but not quite teasing. “Is this good?”

“Mm?”

“Does it feel good?”

_Ah. Probably_. “I think so.” She keeps her eyes shut, because—it seems best. Like a good idea.

“And this?” His palms rub against her nipples through her shirt, making her shiver.

“Yes. Yes.” _Don’t stop._

“But maybe that’s not the point, right? Maybe it’s not about whether _you_ feel good? Because what you’re worried about is that your body might not be good enough for someone else.” There is something vaguely regretful in his voice as he says it, like the thought makes him deeply sorry. It leaves Rey with no idea how to respond. “So maybe I should be telling you other things.” Her tank is stretchy enough that he can tug it down easily, down until the top of her bra cups must be visible. Rey doesn’t know—her eyes are still closed. “Maybe I should tell you how _I_ feel?”

“You… You can.” She feels wetness, and then teeth— _teeth_ —on the plump flesh at the top of her right breast. She has to bite back a yelp. “If you want to.”

He sucks on her, delicately. “Can I tell you about the first time I saw you? When you came into my office?” More wetness, and Rey bites her lip as she nods. He must be licking her. And not delicately, either. “My first thought was that maybe you were lost. That you had wandered in there looking for something else. That you were little more than a girl.” He _is_ squeezing now. And then Rey feels cool air and a light pressure on the underside of her breasts, and realizes that he has pulled the cups down. Completely. That he must be _looking_ at her. “And my second thought was that you must have the sweetest, wettest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

_Oh, god. God god god god—_

She whimpers, and then arches her back to push against him. “ _Ah_ —Ben, I—”

“Are your nipples sensitive?”

“I don’t kn—” He brushes the left one and the sound that comes out of her mouth is _feral_. Unlike anything she has ever produced. 

“I think maybe they are.” He is circling it now, making her squirm against the office desk, the edge digging hard into her lower back. Rey moans, arching further in his hands. “I like their color. Pink, but not really. I like that they’re almost dark.” She can feel his breath, warm and humid against her skin. She is _dripping_. “I like that they stick out so much. That they’re thick.” 

“They’re just—they’re just—”

_Oh, God._ The way he licks her—it’s like he’s trying to swallow her. Not kittenish, or practiced, or even adept. Not a flick, not meant to tease: it starts from the bottom of her tit and travels up its slope, his tongue flat and broad as it swipes across her nipple, stroking hard against it. “Shit, Rey. They’re _made_ for this.” 

“Oh my _God_.” There is heat licking up her spine, flooding her mouth, pooling liquid in her underwear. He inhales, as if he can smell it on her.

“Too much?”

“No, _no_ , I—”

He groans, deep and guttural. “Stop me if it’s too much.” He latches onto the same nipple, rubbing his tongue against it and his fingers against the other. “Because I’m not going to.”

She’s not going to. Stop him. Ever again. She doesn’t even remember reaching up and combing her hands through his hair, but she must have and she is grasping his nape so tight she is not certain she could let go, even if he asked her to. Her knees are broken, melted, all her joints are liquid butter. His mouth sucking at her, trying to take in her entire breast like he wants to eat her up, is the only thing that’s holding her upright. “ _Ben_.”

“Oh god, that’s good. That’s so fucking _good_.“ He is using his teeth again. Grazing and scraping and she is so _sensitive_ , so wrecked—there are tears spilling down her cheeks, now. Out of her still closed, still shut-tight eyes. “Rey, let me—just let me—”

The dull sound of something hitting the ground, and Rey finds herself laid down on the desk and pressed into it, her legs falling open to make room for his torso. There is some struggling, some adjusting, some sharp noises and pleading sounds, and then for a blissful second her clit is dragging against his abs. Perfect, unforgiving, delicious friction. “ _Ah._ ” 

“Your tits, Rey,” he rasps. “They were _made_ for sex.” Her top—he must have ripped it off. Her bra, too. There is no way she’d be almost naked, otherwise. 

“I bet they’re a problem. Your tits. Your _nipples_. I bet that they’re visible when you’re cold, even through your shirt. That they get really hard and pointy when you’re turned on. Do they?”

She is—she is liquefying. She is about to _dissolve_. “Ben.”

“Do they—”

“Yes, yes, _yes_. Yes, they do get tight and sometimes it’s painful and embarrassing and— _oh_.”

“My poor girl.” He is blowing on them now, hot air together with sweet, wet, deep kisses. “I want to lick them every day for you. Every morning before you go to work, and every night before you fall asleep. Before I fuck you into the mattress.” The sound of his breathing is heavy and short, and he is so warm and solid, so large on top of her. He’s _perfect_. “I bet your little cunt tastes amazing, too.” A nip on the underside of her right breast. “I bet it’s so small and tight. Is it, Rey?”

“I—I don’t know, I’ve never…”

He grunts, a little like an animal. And groans. “God, tell me you’ll let me. Tell me you’ll let me open you up?”

She nods. And whimpers, a rush of air out of her body as she curves off the desk and into him.

“I can feel how wet you are through you panties and _God_ , I just want to lick you dry. I just want to eat you out for the next three days. But that’s not what we’re here for, right?” He is getting so—not violent, but something like it. Out of control. Aggressive. There will be bruises on her breasts tomorrow. Hickeys. Marks. Rey will probably brush her fingers against them, press softly into the dark spots on her flesh. And the slight pain will remind her of this pleasure, overwhelming and slow and otherworldly. Frightening. “Could you come from this?”

“From—from this?”

“From me sucking your tits. Could you come from that?”

It’s—not even physically possible. Rey knows it—it’s boiling up in her veins and her cunt, her pleasure, but she can feel that she needs more. More touch, more stimulation. Somewhere else. “No. No.” She shakes her head, feeling the hard desk under her skull, feeling mad and out of her mind. “No, I need…” Something else. Pressure. On her pussy. _Inside_ her pussy. She needs to rub her clit against—God, she could make herself come on his thigh, on his firm belly, on his fingers. Whatever he’ll give her, she could make use of it. “Ben. You have to help me.”

“Could you try? Eh, Rey?”

“Try?” Is he _mad?_

“Yes. Will you try for me? To come just from this? Just from me touching these?”

She groans, frustrated. But for some reason she isn’t saying no. She just arches her back even more, and digs her finger deeper in his hair.

“Maybe they really are small,” he is saying, his lips moving against her nipple. “But it doesn’t really matter, because they’re so _perfect_. God Rey, I would fuck these tits.” He is kissing them so sweetly, now. Sweet and avid, barely contained. “If you'd let me. Would you?”

“Ben—there is barely anything to—”

“Would you?”

“ _Yes_. Yes, I would.”

“Good girl. Maybe I could cover them completely in my come. God knows my balls have been full enough since meeting you.” Rey is starting to shake. Not just her hands now, but also the inside of her thighs, her entire torso as he sucks even harder on her. “Would you hate that?”

No. No, no, _no_. “I don’t know. _Ben_.”

“Tell me you would, sweetheart. I would look into your eyes and then blow my load on your beautiful tits and then spread it all over you, and after I would pinch your little nipples like _this_ —” 

Her orgasm, it _erupts_ out of her. It has her entire body arching in a tight bow, and Rey reaches out around herself, looking for something to hold on, something to contain her. She finds that there is nothing but Ben: Ben holding her down with his arms and his hands and his mouth; Ben reminding her to breathe, that it’s alright, it will be alright; Ben telling her how good she is, a good, sweet girl, with her beautiful little body and her cute cunt and her magnificent tits that he sees every time he closes his eyes. Rey knows her pleasure—she knows how to feel it and how to parse it and how to squeeze the most out of it, but this orgasm, this electric wave that sweeps her skin and has her clit pulsating against nothing, it’s unlike any other she’s had before, unlike _anything_. It goes on and on until her vision spots and blurs, and she is only distantly aware of Ben biting her throat and grunting into her skin; of the warm, wet feeling seeping through his jeans and sticking to her thigh. 

It feels like minutes have gone by, before she can breathe again and form coherent thoughts. Ben is still holding himself on top of her, chest heaving and eyes somber, and—yes. 

Out of the blue, it occurs to Rey that she was _definitely_ too harsh on him the first time they met. He doesn't look bad, not at all. The opposite, really.

Around her, the desk is in complete disarray, and her clothes are all but ripped off of her body. Mid-afternoon sunlight is streaming in through the small office window, and she can feel beads of sweat trickling down her neck. This is a bit of a mess. A huge mess. And yet, the only thing she can think to say is: 

“Should I still fix your car's AC?” 

He laughs silently, and presses his lips against hers.

…

“So, how did you two meet?”

Ben’s arm squeezes her shoulders just a little tighter, but Rey smiles up at him reassuringly. Yes, she _had_ been nervous at the idea of meeting his parents, but in person Leia is much less intimidating than she’d expected. And Han—Han, with his put-upon expression and his Ford Falcon and his oil-smudged hands, Han might be her favorite person ever. 

After Ben.

“Just through work,” she answers. 

“Ah.” Leia tilts her head with a curious expression. “Whose work?”

Rey glances at Ben, who’s rolling his eyes adorably, like he’s in middle school again. “Mom.” 

“What?” Leia taps his arm. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“Giving her the third degree is highly unnecessary though, so—”

“Both,” Rey intervenes. “Both. I met him through his work, and then he turned up at my garage without knowing that I was there. Just by chance.”

“Oh, this is such a nice coincidence.” Leia beams, obviously pleased. Like it’s proof that Ben and Rey were predestined, or something like that. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

Rey presses into Ben’s side and wraps her arm around his waist. 

“Definitely.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “Not _too_ small, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please look [at the fantastic moodboard Msdes made for this fic](https://twitter.com/sofondabooks/status/1155720542512533507) she is a true moodboard angel 😭💕
> 
> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoAli)


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